


Shadowhunter Zimmermann

by RhysieRain



Series: Check Please but Shadowhunters [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Bitty bangs Bad Bob, Claustrophobia, Demons, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, well in theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhysieRain/pseuds/RhysieRain
Summary: On a favour for Justin, Eric helps a Shadowhunter hunt a demon. And maybe gets attached.More in the Shadowhunters AU, this time how Bitty meets Bad Bob in the 80's. Yes this is self-indulgent. Sue me.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Bob Zimmermann
Series: Check Please but Shadowhunters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636501
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Shadowhunter Zimmermann

Although Bitty had been alive for nearly 70 years, he still felt like he was a child, a baby really, in the other world of humanity. Training with Justin didn't help. The other man was much older, give or take a few hundred years, and much more knowledgeable. He could rattle off demonic spells and curses from memory, he recognised all the runes the Shadowhunters used, the accords. He was pretty damn smart, at least in comparison to Eric's pretty damn dense. 

He couldn't build portals, he couldn't get the hang of saying the Latin in all of Justin's books without the southern twang affecting the outcome. He even had to get Justin to weave a glamour around his horns, hiding them from view from the mundanes. He 100% was not ready for secret missions to New York clubs with Shadowhunters that was for sure. Yet here he was, crop top and Levis, shivering out in the street in New York waiting in a queue. 

He peeked up at the Shadowhunter beside him. He was young and handsome, in his twenties and very much coming into his own as a warrior. He had a strong chin and cheekbones and a warm air that made Eric almost want to inch closer. He fit well into the double denim look that seemed to be popular now, unlike Eric who felt alien in his own. Fashion seemed to change so much now, unlike the simple cotton shirts and pants he remembered for his first few decades of living. 

He was Bob Zimmerman, a younger Shadowhunter training in New York (He guessed?) They were trailing a presumed lust demon, that preyed on the drunk and vulnerable in exclusive clubs like this. Fortunately for Zimmerman, Justin Oluransi, the High Warlock of New York, had that sort of access. Unfortunately for Eric, Justin would cause too much of a stir in a club like this, easily being recognisable to demons. Which meant poor ol' Eric ended up attending this shindig. It wasn't that he didn't like the partying, the drinking, the atmosphere. It was just different, it still felt like a luxury he couldn't afford. The Great Depression wasn't that long ago, not really. 

Eric was snapped out of his musing by Bob putting a large hand on his shoulder and pushing lightly as they approached the bouncer who scrutinised them. Gingerly, Eric took a purple card out of his pocket and passed it towards the bouncer. His dark red eyes flickered over the card and he gave them both a toothy smile, leaning out the way for them.

They waltzed into the darkened club, music hyped and pulsating loudly. The crowd was an eyesore almost, neon clothes and patterns clashing against each other and textured frizzle hair brushing against his skin at every turn. Discreetly, Bob inclined his head towards Eric's ear, hand brushing his hip as he went along.

"This one's a lower demon." He shouted over the din "It's not going to be subtle but it's going to be damaging. Anyone who gets hit by it is going to bed in a bad state."

Eric's eyes peeled over the club. There were clumps of people dancing, all in different ways. Unsure dancers, messy ones, overtly sexual ones. Secretive ones of the same gender. Their hands tightly gripped together for support and safety, despite the other dancer's lack of interest in anyone but themselves. There was safety, in the dark and the flashing lights. Eric paused, eyes glancing over a pack of girls in the corner, eyes glistening with concern even from this distance. 

"There." He yelled into Bob's ear, hand lightly touching his hand. "By the bathroom."

As they approached the scene became clearer. A gaggle of girls were murmuring to each other in softer voices. One was lying back against the wall on the floor weeping as the others whispered and looked at each other in concern. Pushing Bob back with one hand, Eric leant down beside her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey sweetheart, are you okay?" He said.

She turned towards him, voice slurring and her words incomprehensible. Eric frowned, feeling her head and hissed.

"She's not been drugged," He said turning towards Bob "Must be energy drain, poor thing-" 

Bob didn't reply, eyes trained on something across the room.

"I think I see something." He stated. "Stay here."

He stalked forwards precisely, leaving Eric in the sticky dirt of the floor. He went to rise, to chase after him but the girl clutched his hand tightly. He shifted towards the girls who were still gawking at the scene. 

"Is this your friend?" He asked. 

"Nah," returned one of them "We saw her come out of the cloakroom like that, we didn't know what to do."

"Alright," Bitty replied. "Can one of y'all get the manager or something to call an ambulance. Something ain't right."

It was a mediocre explanation but the mundanes bought it easily. One of the girls rushed off and he caught the hand of another, guiding her down to the floor to sit on the other side of the girl. 

"Stay here and keep close. I'm gonna check there ain't no other poor girls stuck back there."

He stood up, hands brushing his knees carefully and he entered into the cloakroom. Bob would be fine stalking the actual demon but Eric had a niggling sensation pooling in his stomach that it wasn't going to be that easy. Demonic influences could linger in rooms and it might be that the girl got zapped by a vortex left behind there. 

He stepped forward into the dark room and inhaled sharply. When they said cloakroom, he'd imagined a regulated one with someone handing out tickets. Not... this. This was dark, no person in sight and tight, claustrophobic. Breathing shakily, he crept forward, running his fingers across the coats and jackets. Nothing felt out of place, until the cupboard, at the back. His heart got stuck in his throat looking at it. 

Spreading his jittery fingers over the wood, he could feel the energy pulsing behind it, singing to the demon energy in his blood. Before he had the chance to inspect it further the door swung open, slapping against his chest before something dragged him in with a smoky claw. Not a lust demon notalustdemonnotalustdemon. 

Eric screamed. He screamed and screamed and bashed against the cupboard door, memories flashing in his head. Why, why, why, why. He clenched his eyes tightly, tears escaping. He'd been alive for decades for god's sake, why did this still haunt him. The inescapable dark and sensation of closing in. It was as suffocating as he remembered. He could hear the jeering laughter, his past cries echoing in his mind like a mirror and his nails scratching desperately against a wooden door. He let out another anguished scream before a warm hand gripped his own and pulled him out.

Warm arms encircled him and held him close to the heat of a body, a large hand stroking over his head and around his horns.

" _ Merde."  _ someone- Bob maybe?- whispered, "You should've waited." 

Eric practically wailed into the shirt in front of him. His head was pounding and dizzy, his energy having been drained from him. It all made sense now. The poor girl before him likely entered the cloakroom, nervous from the dark or the club or  _ something _ and the fear demon followed, trapping her in and sucking out as much as it could. And just to rub in Eric's face how much his life sucked, there just had to be a tiny closet that it could use to trap him too.

"Shit." He slurred. "Fear demon... energy."

"Don't worry Eric," Bob said, Eric now seeing his face, albeit muddied and blurred "All taken care of."

"Good," Eric stated before promptly slumping onto the ground

* * *

When Eric came to, he could see the stars. Well, a star really, the light in New York hiding most of them from view. Nostalgia whistled through his bones as he thought about lying in the fields by his house growing up and being able to see every little star, moonlight glowing on his skin and fireflies- Okay he certainly was still feeling the absentmindedness typical of energy drain. He sat up and inspected the concrete he was lying on, and the denim jacket that was holding his head, before noticing Bob sitting beside him.

"Oh good." He said, "You're not dead,"

Eric laughed with a wince as it made his head pound. "Killing warlocks is never that simple."

"Hmm, true, true."

"Where are we anyway?" Bitty asked

"The roof," Bob explained, "Can't exactly troop across the city carrying you like a sack of potatoes."

"But you could carry me up to the roof ?"

"Well I, er-" Bob started, " I didn't want to attract attention. Larger man carrying someone unconscious out of a club. That's pretty suspect to anyone, mundane or other."

"Of course." Eric murmured before slapping his knees.

He got up, the world spinning in his vision for a moment and his hand reaching to grip the other man's arm carefully. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He reassured. "Just might need a hand not going sideways on the way home. How far away are we?"

"Less than an hour walk. It'll have to be walking, no cab's going to take me like this."

Eric paused and looked at Bob more closely. His white shirt was splattered with the pitch black of demon blood but his neck red, a rugged scratch pulled across it. His jeans were tattered at the bottom too and his boots carried the same stain of ichor as his shirt. 

"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes that's for sure." Eric said with a laugh "I can't imagine I'm much better either."

"Nah. You look great." was replied softly, making Eric smile.

He curled his arm around Bob's, leaning into him as his vision still blurred ever so slightly. 

"Come on handsome, let's go home." 

* * *

Shoes clacking against the pavement were the only sound to fill the air now. Away from the club streets and active areas of the city, there was only sleeping darkness. Now and again, they would pass a lone person in the streets, perhaps asleep, perhaps watching them with careful eyes. It was peaceful, a respite from the pounding music and action of earlier. He heard Bob breathe in imperceptibly beside him before he spoke.

"Earlier... with the demon, why-" He began "Why did you react like that?

"What d'you mean?" He asked, flinching slightly.

"Eric, I thought you were being ripped apart." He said solemnly "I could hear you from across the club."

"Really?" 

"Yes," Bob continued "I was, well, I was terrified. Warlock Oluransi said you were practised in defensive magick but that was... something else. It echoed in my mind like you were shouting straight into my brain." 

Eric gripped Bob's arm harder, eyes set on the movement of his feet beneath him.

"It  _ was  _ defensive." He said "I can't control it but I- it happens. 'Specially in spaces like that."

"Spaces like what?"

"Restricted, tight, dark spaces." He explained. "I- It's a long story okay?"

"We've got a long walk."

"Fine," Eric said before beginning. 

"Back when I was still a kid, back in Georgia in the '30s, I never fit in funnily enough. Didn't even have my horns back then, was just small and weak. Feminine. Used to help my mama in the house rather than the men's work. Wasn't strong enough for a lotta the fieldwork and the pigs scared me to death, still do, so I didn't even like feeding 'em. So I helped with the cleanin' and the shopping when I wasn't at school."

"My daddy used to get some of the townie boys to come and help around the harvest time. We'd pay em in a small cut of the harvest when we could, none of us had any sorta money. But these boys, they were, well, they were nasty as all hell. I don't think my pa realised how nasty they were till it happened."

He stopped for a moment, pausing to look at his faint reflection in a window they passed. 

"Go on," Bob said, looking at him attentively and shaking him back to the present. 

"What happened was that one night, near the end of the harvest, one of 'em got their hands on some moonshine and they decided drinking in the backs of our fields was the best place to hide. My father was out of town selling so there was no one to tell 'em off. Not that my father would've daddy'd let them get away with murder. But my mama was upset and worried so I told her I'd do it. Be a man and tell them to scram."

"Went out, hands on my hips and filled with some sorta terrified confidence, told them to get. Ended up getting shoved in one of the grain silos. Ours were small, even smaller when filled, and it was so tight and dark. I didn't shout at first, hoping they'd stuck me in there to have a laugh whilst they finished drinkin'. I realised after an hour that they weren't coming back. I cried for hours, banging and scratching on the door to it. I thought I was gonna suffocate, that I wouldn't be found till my daddy got back in a few days."

"Eventually, I began screaming, praying my mama could hear. And she did. And so did the whole town. Had people on the other side banging on our door, asking what'd happened. Finally, they realised where I was, got me out and well. Certainly did change me. Never did tell my daddy who did it though. We needed all the help we could get, making him fire all his helpers would've messed us up for the harvest and winter. We'd've ended up starving. So yeah. No dark closed spaces for me."

"Oh Eric," Bob said, stopping on the street. "I'm so sorry."

"Naw it's okay now, it was nothing really," Eric said, small hand coming to rub across the back of his neck. "I've had decades to get over it and I know all those boys are old and ugly now if they even lived this long. They got the short straw in the end."

"But still," Bob said, spinning round to stand in front of Eric. "Things like that stay with you, have stayed with you. "

"Bob Zimmermann." Eric started "I got hundreds and hundreds of years of living left. One day, I'll get over that fear. One day I might even forget it happened. But there ain't no reason to be miserable about it." 

"Eric Bittle, you were clearly hurt and traumatised by this. You're shaking and you can't even look at me. And that's okay. It's okay to be upset about it. It isn't nothing." Bob said, hand on his shoulder "There should've been a punishment, you should've been treated better in the first place."

Eric laughed, sharp and bitter compared to the softness of his earlier story. "Oh honey, if you think that's the worst I've been treated then you are sorely mistaken."

"People who look like me, have a personality like me, we ain't been treated right for a long time. We still aren't. In the Mundane world or the other world. " He said

"And that's wrong. You're just the same as any of us, warlock or not, ...different or not."

"' S'pose so," Eric mumbled, ducking his head low as his eyes began to water slightly. He knew things were changing, people were changing. Downworlder communities were fine for guys like him. No one cared, why would they? Most of them lived long enough that worrying about what people looked like or who they kissed was meaningless. Shadowhunters did care though. Their community was insular tight. Everyone knew what each family looked like and the men and women got married nice and quickly, ready to pop out the next generation of Shadowhunters. It was jarring that Bob seemed to  _ care _ . He cared that he had been abused for being himself, he cared for a downworlder. Sure the accords made sure everyone got along nicely but being friends with downworlders and  _ caring  _ about them were too different things.

Before Eric could say anymore he found warm arms wrapping around him, pulling him tightly towards a muscular body. He breathed in, smelling the spice of deodorant, the tinge of ichor and sweat still soaking the shirt. He peaked up out of the shirt, looking up at Bob's face for a moment before he found himself being kissed, softly and gently, just for a moment. 

"Bob I-"

"I'm sorry but you just." He whispered. " You looked so sad." 

Eric laughed lightly, and pushed Bob's face back with his hand, leaning out of his grasp. "Just because I'm sad and gay doesn't mean I need a kiss without asking mister."

"I mean, you kissed back."

"Maybe I just wanted to."

"Well then, maybe I kissed you because I wanted to."

"You wanted to, huh? Cute."

"Yep that's right," Bob said a laugh "Seriously though, I didn't mean to overstep so I-"

"Shh. You're fine." Eric said waving his hand "I ain't never gonna turn down handsome men kissing me. I've lived long enough, I deserve it."

"Of course you do." Bob laughed before holding his arm out. "Now, good sir, do allow me to escort you back to Warlock Oluransi's house before we see the literal sunrise."

"Why of course fair sir." Eric said with a snort "We really should be on our way."

* * *

Seven years later, Eric is sat wine glass in hand, perched on a hot pink love seat, listening as Justin regales him with his story of last year's accords. Eric had been invited but refused the invitation in favour of spending a month in Paris.

"And man like, it was so scary. There was this shadowhunter right and I swear to god his bicep was bigger than my head and I thought he was going to snap me in half like a twig and then Zimmermann. He just, like, comes out of nowhere and-"

"Wait, Bob?"

"Yeah, that one! Apparently, he and some others knew this shit was gonna happen, didn't tell any of us, and so as soon as the Circle started attacking he just pow! Killed a dude who was stood behind him? Without looking?? It was pretty hot. Mostly terrifying though."

"Goodness," Eric chuckled "I almost wish I could've gone."

"Yeah, you do" Ransom smirked, knocking his elbow into Eric's side "You  _ do _ make a great damsel in distress."

"No, I do not." Eric said airily " I'll have you know I could very easily... run away without any assistance."

Justin puffed out a laugh at that. 

"Have you spoken to him since your little... whatever ended?"

"Naw, not really." Eric said, "Not since the engagement."

"Engagement?" Justin said, inhaling his wine slightly "Were you smacking lips with an already taken man you naughty boy."

Eric slapped Justin's thigh with a chuckle and received Justin's snake tongue sticking out at him petulantly.

"I was not!" He remarked, "Last year, Bob was... heavily encouraged to meet his Parabatai's sister for an engagement meeting because apparently being an unmarried Shadowhunter is the worst sin. But then, my goodness it was love at first sight and he said yes a couple of months later."

"So what, you guys just stopped seeing each other, like that? Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am, well, sir."

"Justin." Eric said heavily "It was always gonna be like that. You and I both know there ain't much point falling in love with squishy little mortals who are gonna die in a blink of an eye."

"True. But still-"

"Justin Oluransi, I am not talking about this anymore," Eric stated firmly. "Alicia Lightwood is a lovely beautiful woman and Bob looks at her like she'd hung the sun, moon and stars for him from the moment they met. Whamming and bamming ain't nothing compared to true love."

"Eric Bittle, do not deny that you aren't attached." 

"Of course I am. For heaven's sake, I'm still attached to my first crush on the neighbour's boy and he's dead now. But I am fine with this." 

"Sure Jan." Justin smirked, "You are so never getting over this."

"You're right about that." Eric sighed "I ain't never gotten over anything in my life, Mr Oluransi, and I certainly ain't gonna start now."

Eric let out a final hefty sigh and leaned into Justin, who lifted his arm gently to let him sink into a hug. 

"You'll be alright my man, promise," Justin said into his hair. "You don't need dead neighbours or Bad Bob Zimmermann. You got-."

Eric laughed uproariously at that.]

" _ Bad Bob? _ " He demanded, "Since when has he been called Bad Bob."

"Ooh someone hasn't got the gossip from Larissa yet." Justin said grinning "During the accords, he, get this, ripped some demons fucking arm off. With his bare hands, no runes. It was.. impressive. So impressive that someone started calling him Badass Bob, one of the werewolves I think, and it got mangled into that. Apparently, that's what all the hunters are calling him now."

Eric snorted and giggled again. "It's ridiculous and yet. It suits him. It sounds right"

"I know right? I want a cool nickname now. Any chump can be a High Warlock" 

Eric shook his head laughing at Justin before smiling to himself. It didn't matter if Eric was sad, even a little bit at losing a companion; if he could even be called that. It was just the way of living forever it seemed. People get older and move on whilst Eric stays, static and the same forever. At least, he thought with another sad smile, Bob got a happily ever after. Put himself in the history books, getting married. All he needed was to help his wife pop out some battle-ready baby and he would have the perfect shadowhunter story ending. 

__

**Author's Note:**

> Bob was a bit weird to write as he's obvs got big dad energy in the series and having them be the same age (somewhat) and interacting at the same level was weird byt also cool!! Also yeah Bitty's backstory is sad. I have his whole life timeline planned out somewhere haha. Anyway I hope y'all like this!! If you like this mayb chek out my art tumblr and see my Check Please Art as well as my actual fanart for this fic!! Link: https://rhysiereyart.tumblr.com/


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